


Through the sorrow, all through our splendor

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Series: The Rise of Skywalker One Shots [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alive Ben Solo, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Background Rose/Jannah, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Fix-It, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Dyad (Star Wars), Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Redeemed Ben Solo, Size Kink, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: “Do you remember when I killed you?”“Yes.” He is almost smiling. Not quite. “Do you remember when you yanked me back to life?"Or: A TROS fix-it fic
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: The Rise of Skywalker One Shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1368502
Comments: 207
Kudos: 2495
Collections: TROS - Ben Solo - Fixit Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 is being betad and it's coming tomorrow! A million thanks to [ Simone ](https://twitter.com/simonethereylo) for the beta and the encouragement 💕💕

_“There simply was,” he tells her, patient but firm, “no other ending for us to have.”_

…

The moment the Force Wars end, Rey begins to count the days again. 

There is no wall on the Resistance base for her to etch markings into; and in any case, as Coruscant and the rest of the Core are freed and re-taken, it becomes clear that very soon there will be no need for a base at all. But several of the Jedi texts have blank pages at their end, and Klaud gifts Rey something to write on them; it used to belong to Yonah, one of the casualties of the battle of Exegol: a slick calligraphy set, made of pens with ivory handles and a perfectly round glass container for the ink. 

Rey has never seen anything like it before. And yet, she somehow knows how to use it. 

“What’s…” Finn cocks his head, one night on the Falcon, staring behind Rey’s shoulder as she inks the latest line on the sallow page. “What’s forty-three? Forty-three what?”

“Forty-four.”

“Whatever. Forty-four what?”

“Days.”

“Days, to what?” He frowns, and gestures to D-0 rolling around in a corner. “You know we can program any of these droids for a countdown, right?”

“Yep.”

“And I didn’t know you liked this calligraphy stuff—”

She slams the book shut and pushes out of her chair. “We should go find Rose,” she tells him with a smile. 

It’s obvious that Finn doesn’t want to, but he lets the topic go.

...

_“In my dreams,” she says close to his ear, “you only die once.”_

_“In my dreams,” he answers, “so do you.”_

…

Rebuilding is…

Rebuilding is a lot of things. Difficult, for one—creating something from the ashes of nothing is much harder than organizing troops, or chasing after spies and intel, or even of Jedi training in the swampiest, thickest forests; but it’s also time-consuming and exhausting and complicated, with so much diplomacy required and endless meetings and very, _very_ little action. 

Rebuilding is necessary but above all _boring_ , and it reminds Rey a little of scavenging: something she might be good at if she applied herself—but she would much rather spend the next few decades of her life doing something else. Dirt farming, or nerf herding, or watching BB and D-0 make out. 

Literally _anything_ else.

Rebuilding is not where Rey is most needed, or where she is more useful. On the sands of Tatooine, the weight of her staff pulling at her shoulder, she stares at twin suns so much unlike Ahch-To’s; and she thinks of the imperial ruins she used to call home, wondering what her place might be in a world without wars. 

…

_“I wish we had more time.”_

_…_

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No.”

“Just hone in on it.”

“On _what_?”

“Poe. Think of Poe. Of his essence. Don’t try to reason about where he might have hidden. Don’t think at all—let the Force tell you, let it guide to him—”

“It’s not telling me jack shit, Rey.”

A frustrated sigh. “You have to _try_ if you—”

“I _am_ trying—”

“Not really, though. You’re mostly bitching.”

“I _am_ doing it, you have no idea how hard this—” Finn snaps his mouth shut, probably at the realization that Rey has plenty of ideas about how hard learning to use the Force might be. He looks down to his boots, a frustrated tension stiffening his nape. “I’m sorry.”

Rey bites the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing. “You’re spending too much time with Poe.”

He frowns. “What does this have to do with—”

“You’re becoming difficult. Just as difficult as he is.”

Finn’s shoulders relax, and his lips curve into a smile.  “I just—I really can’t. I _am_ trying to focus on Poe, but I can’t for the life of me figure out where he’s hidden, and—” His eyes narrow. “Is he inside that drawer?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“He’s short, but not _that_ short _.”_

Finn sighs and rubs his eyes. “Am I wasting your time? Maybe I just can’t learn. Maybe I’m not like you—this… this Force thing, it might never work for me. I’m wasting your time asking you teach me, and Poe’s time forcing him to play hide and seek, and—”

“Finn.” She reaches out and clasps a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not you. It’s me, too. I barely know how to _do_ this stuff—I have no idea how to teach it.” 

And if she’s not able to teach even her closest friend, what are the chances that she’ll manage to gather students and start a new temple? Start a new Jedi order?  And yet, it’s expected. 

It’s overwhelming.

“Maybe I just—” he shrugs, not at all nonchalant, “—just can’t _feel_ people.” 

“You can. You will. You have, before.”

“Not really, though. I felt _you_ , when you…” He looks away. They do not talk of that. They do not put it in words. “Maybe that’s my only Force power. To feel people when they go away.” He covers his eyes with his palms. “ _God_. It’s the worst fucking power anyone has ever—”

“Stop.” She squeezes her fingers around the ball of his shoulder. “Finn, we’ll figure it out.”

“It was horrible. Knowing that you…”

“I know.” Rey takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself. “I know.”

“Is that how you felt when Luke died?” Finn’s eyes are haunted. “And Leia?”

She nods. 

“And her son?” 

For a beat, Rey goes motionless. She should just nod again, answer Finn with something vague and noncommittal, and go back to their training; instead her hand slides down to her left hip, to that spot that always feels so warm, even when the rest of her is chilly and exhausted. It’s the same warmth that sometimes uncurls in the back of her head; when it’s not empty or throbbing painfully, anyway.

Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, to say: “Finn. I—”

It’s Poe’s voice that cuts her off. “Guys?” He must be somewhere in the hallway. “Is the Force thing working? Can I come out, now?”

Rey exhales, smiles, and yells at him to stay put.

…

_Sometimes she finds him awake very late, sitting in their just-blooming garden, looking up at the stars._

_Sometimes she kneels behind him and loops her arms around his neck, lays her head on a tense shoulder, and whispers:_

_“Be with me.”_

…

Rose smiles when Rey brings her a piece of Jogan fruit cake.

Rose smiles a lot these days, and so does Jannah. The two of them disappear a lot in weird, remote places; they have so many inside jokes that their conversations are almost impossible to make sense of, and sometimes the backs of their hands brush in ways that look not quite unintentional. Poe, the relay station of all Resistance gossip, would probably be able to explain what is going on in juicy, delicious detail; unfortunately he’s off somewhere with Zorii, doing things no one should ever wonder about. Rey’s heart squeezes a little when Rose and Jannah smile at each other, but it’s not…

It’s fine. It’s not that bad.

Rey, the hero of the Force Wars, surrounded by other heroes of the Force Wars, is just there. Wondering. Working. Training. Thinking. Building, deciding, resting. Fixing, watching. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

At night, she marks the days. Eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six. 

Eighty-seven.

…

_If she follows the line between his index and middle fingers with her short, blunt nail, he just stares at her patiently. But if she traces it with her mouth he closes his eyes and presses his lips together, and the breath he lets out from his nose is as soft as it is deep._

_“I love your hands,” she murmurs into the rough calluses._

_His mouth curves into a small smile. “Is that why you turned them down? Twice?”_

_She bites into the fleshy mound above his wrist, and he starts to laugh._

_…_

One-hundred and eight.

…

_“Do you remember when I killed you?”_

_“Yes.” He is almost smiling. Not quite. “Do you remember when you yanked me back to life? Twice.” He looks down, and continues to swirl the drink in his glass. “As though I were something of yours.”_

_Rey can’t stop staring at his fingers. “Maybe you are.”_

…

“And there are reports,” Poe says at the end of a morning strategy meeting, his tone a little like an afterthought, “of a new group of Force users.”

Several people—Kaydel, Beau, even Rose—stand up and leave to start their work day. Others begin to chat amongst themselves about unrelated topics—holos, breakfast, their bad night of sleep and the resulting migraine. Rey and Finn are the only ones to show some interest in Poe’s announcement. They exchange a long look and then turn back to Poe, who is already starting to get out of is seat.

“Oh?” Rey tries not to frown. There is something tingly crawling up her spine. Maybe she’ll get a migraine, too. “Where is this group?”

“On Chandrila. A bit outside Hannah City.”

“Jedi?”

“No. Nothing like that,” Poe waves a hand dismissively. “It’s probably nothing.”

_It’s not nothing. It’s not nothing. It’s not nothing not nothing not nothing not—_

“What it is, then?”

Poe shrugs. “We don’t know much.”

“What _do_ you know?”

“That it’s children, mostly. Not a temple or anything like it. Just… Force sensitive kids. Different ages, apparently. Nothing to be alarmed about, but I thought I’d mention it. We might want to monitor it. Just in case.”

The frayed, dull pain that has been residing in the back of Rey’s head for one-hundred and twenty-seven days is throbbing, now; a drum thudding loudly, in time with her heart, a beating of _not nothing not nothing not nothing must go must see must—_

“How did they organize?” Finn is asking. More curious than suspicious.

“Someone.” Poe lowers his gaze to the holopad, his eyes skimming the communique rapidly. “A man. Apparently a man is… I’m not sure what he’s doing? Something Force-y, probably. Lifting rocks, I’m guessing.” He grins.

“Right,” Finn says, rolling his eyes.

Rey’s head is splitting open. About to burst.

“It’s not… not anything dangerous, I think. This person or his students haven’t been seen fighting or anything like that, so I think he might be a Force user who is not particularly strong and has had some kind of basic training in the past… I don’t know.” He shrugs again. Poe has never been particularly interested or fascinated with the concept of the Force. “You guys want to go check on him?”

Finn nods. “Sure.”

“I will.” Rey stands, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple. 

“Yes. We can leave—”

“Alone. I’m going alone.”

Finn’s eyes narrow. “But I can—”

“I’m taking the Falcon.”

They call after her as she walks away, but Rey never looks back.

…

_His hair is so, so soft between her fingers. “I used to be so scared of you.”_

_“I still am.” He grins, but not in jest. “I am terrified of you.”_

…

Sometimes Rey will think of Kylo Ren, of the Supreme Leader of the First Order, of the Master of the Knights of Ren; but she never, ever, _ever_ thinks of Ben Solo. 

Not when she finds herself more alone than she has ever been; not when the strings of their old bond thrum tightly between them, worn thin and frayed and almost— _almost_ —sheared in its ends; not when she can still feel his hand, warm and heavy on her hip bone. 

Not even at night, when she marks the days since he has been gone. 

Rey will think and speak freely of anything, but Ben Solo’s absence… that, she simply cannot bear.

…

_“It’s stronger.”_

_“Than what?”_

_He shrugs with a half smile, reminding her of Han. “Than everything.”_

…

The first thing Rey thinks the moment the Falcon breaks the atmosphere of Chandrila is that the planet reminds her a little of Takodana, with its rolling hills and Tintolive trees and deep shades of green. Green, green everywhere, green as far as the eye can see.

The second thing—it isn't a thought. It’s a _feeling_. An impression of cold and warmth sinking low in her stomach, and then a sense of anticipation lodged in her throat, and—

“We have arrived,” D-0 tells her. “Green.”

Rey swallows and nods, initiating the landing sequence with trembling hands.

…

_“I am sure this has happened before. To others. Right?”_

_He adjusts her more comfortably on top of himself, and when she leans into him he combs her hair away from her face, letting her nuzzle her nose against his jaw. “This?”_

_“Us. Now. The way… The way this feels, being together. It can’t be new. We can't be the first.”_

_People speak of love all the time. They write poems and stories, they make holos, they arrange songs. And yet._

_“I can’t imagine it has.”_

…

They are not children. 

Or: some of them are, but many are not much younger than Rey was when she left Jakku with Finn, and the moment she approaches a small group of them they stare at her staff with a mix of fascination and suspicion.

“I am Rey,” she says, trying to muster a smile. It can’t be convincing, not when that empty space inside her head is vibrating with a dangerous kind of energy. She makes sure that her hands are visibly distant from her weapon, trying to ease the kids’ apprehension. “I don’t mean anything bad. I just want to talk to you.”

“Talk to us?” a Twi'lek asks. A young woman. Her brows are knitted together, a beautiful pattern of blue lines.

“About…” Rey takes a deep breath. “I am a Force user, too.” 

_I am a Jedi._

_I am all the Jedi who came before—_

“Are you really?” A Pantoran boy with deep purple skin. He doesn’t seem convinced.

“Yes. I…” She attempts another smile. “I know there is a man here. A man who is… helping you.” Several pairs of eyes blink at Rey; no one confirms. “Could you tell me where to find him?”

“Why?”

“To talk. Just to talk.”

The kids exchange a long look, enough for D-0 to complete three happy loops around Rey’s legs. Then the Twi'lek girl nods once, perhaps a little brusquely, and turns on her heels.

“Follow me.”

…

_“I’ve been in your head,” he whispers into her ear before thrusting even deeper. There is a drop of sweat rolling down his temple, and Rey arches up and licks it with a moan. “And there is nothing like it.”_

…

There are some huts, and some sturdier buildings made of bricks and metal and even durasteel; it’s clear that they have all been up for a while, possibly built by locals centuries ago and then abandoned in the last few decades; when the Empire took over, or when the rise of the First Order began to make life outside cities just a little bit too dangerous. 

Rey wonders who would have known to find such a small paradise and to make use of it. Someone, perhaps, who was born on Chandrila. Someone who has lived here for a large chunk of their life.

“What is it that you do here?” she asks while looking around, smiling softly at D-0 as he manages to dig himself out of a patch of mud. 

The girl shrugs, her slim shoulder still holding a trace of tension. It’s clear that she has no intention of liking Rey any time soon. Rey is not sure she can blame her. “We just…” Another shrug.

“Train?”

“Not really. I mean, if that’s what we think is best. But B—We have been told that we shouldn’t train, if we don’t want to. That we don’t _have_ to use the Force. That we don’t owe anything to anyone.” She looks back at Rey with a defensive expression, as if expecting to be contradicted. When Rey simply nods in agreement, she relaxes a bit. “But we were told that we also might like to know how to… how to control ourselves. How to keep our powers in check and deal with our emotions, just in case…” She looks away, her face hidden by a lekku, and her pace slows down ever so slightly. “I have been called a freak my whole life. And others, too. Others have been targeted and sought after and used by…” She shakes her head, as if to dissolve the memory in air. “We just want to _be_.”

_I just want to_ be _._

“Are you learning how to fight?”

“No. Not here.” Her eyes darken. Like it hasn’t always been the case. “We are learning how to exist. How to live without endangering ourselves or others.” The girl points to the entrance to a garden, surrounded by a tall stone wall covered in moss and ivy. “In there.”

“In there?”

“You’ll find him in the garden. That’s where we practice meditation.”

Rey nods; she thanks the Twi’lek, but she’s already gone, walking back to her friends. 

The garden is much larger than Rey would have expected. Overgrown, too, with weeds as tall as bushes and trees that should have been trimmed decades ago. Despite the warm, sunny day, there is a lot of shade where light can’t quite push through the leaves, and for a long moment Rey is not sure which way she should go. So she just inhales, takes in the smell of jasmine and olives, and tries to calm the stuttering rhythm of her heart.

Then, she hears the murmurs.

Somewhere on her right; someone very young, giggling. Soft little laughters interleaved with high pitched squeals—and with those low, soothing murmurs.

A wave of cold sweeps over Rey. Or maybe it’s heat, or both. There is a feeling of falling, and falling, and falling even deeper, but—no. It’s just the sound of her steps on the leafy ground as she moves through the vegetation, towards the voices.

_This is not real._ Her hand goes to her staff; it undoes the strap and reaches for the hilt of her lightsaber. _This is not real. This is not real. This is not—_

Just behind a honeyblossom bush, there are broad shoulders wrapped in dark grey. Too-long black hair brushing against a pale nape and strong forearms where sleeves have been pulled back—ready to catch a green toddler with long ears and large eyes who is floating on air, floating and lifting rocks around himself and—

_Real._

It has been one hundred and twenty-eight days and he is—

“Ben.”

He turns around. The toddler keeps on floating and makes a curious, chirpy sound, but Ben—Ben—Ben, who is standing right in front of her, _real real real real real_ —he says nothing. He just looks at Rey, his eyes wide for a moment. Then he exhales a silent, breathless laughter and smiles at her, and—there are dimples on his cheeks. Rey has seen them once before, only once, and yet they are etched in her memory, like scratches on the metal walls of an imperial walker. 

“Ben,” she repeats. Just a whisper. She can barely talk. 

He is still smiling. Still looking at her, a little—a _lot_ —like he did on Exegol, when he—when she—when _they_ —

“Rey.” 

It’s his voice. It’s Ben’s voice. 

Rey activates her lightsaber and charges at him.

…

_His skin is so pale—even more so under her desert-tanned fingers. “You used to have a scar. Here.”_

_“I did.” He leans into her palm. “But then you took it away.”_

_“Did you mind?”_

_“That you healed it? Or that you gave it to me to begin with?”_

_She thinks about it for a moment._

_“The latter, I suppose.”_

_“Rey.” His voice is low. Hesitant, and yet not. “You can rip me to shreds, if you so wish.”_

…

She doesn’t know why she is attacking him. She can sense it perfectly, now that he is so close, that he harbours no ill intent towards her—towards anyone. He is unarmed and at a clear disadvantage, his hair fanning as he takes large leaps backwards and ducks to avoid her swings, and yet—

Rey can’t stop. She can’t stop herself from putting all of her strength in her lunges, from attacking him from the side, from grunting with effort as she corners Ben closer and closer to the stone wall, the muscles of her arms shaking as she lifts her lightsaber above her head and then swings down, down to his throat to— 

_Rey._

She stops. Inches—no, less, less than inches from his jugular she stops, the yellow blade casting a white light on his pale skin. They are both breathing hard, chests rising and falling quickly, the air between them ripe with sweat and jasmine, and as she looks at him—really looks at him, Rey—

She doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to _think_. On Crait she had felt Luke’s passing like a cold breeze running through the Force, and then Leia’s absence had sank into her like a knife, as heavy as a boulder in the quicksands of the Niima outpost. Nothing like that with Ben, though. Just him disappearing from her sight, and then a dull, throbbing pain, the impression of a missing limb, and silence, so much silence. Calls, so many of her calls, all unanswered, something too painful to mourn, and now—

“Rey.” His voice. So similar, and yet so different from Kylo’s. His hand comes down to the hilt of her lightsaber. Not to take her weapon away, but to close around her fingers. “Why are you crying?”

She isn’t. She is _not_. And yet there are wet splotches on her robes; running down her neck.

“I thought I was crazy.” It’s choked, barely a whisper. Her lips are burning. Salty. “I thought I was going mad.”

Ben’s eyes flutter close. A moment later, the space inside her head, the space he left behind on Exegol, is inhabited again. Full to the brim with life and something else. He shakes his head and leans forward.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against her temple.


	2. Chapter 2

_His eyes flutter open, and immediately focus on Rey. A sleepy smile. “Hey.”_

…

“There are fields over there.” From a couple of steps ahead of Rey he points to a large fenced area, just beyond the meditation garden. Behind her, D-0 tries to avoid the bumps in the terrain. “We’ve been working them. Not sure whether the crops will work out, but we did manage to get some radishes.” He winces, like he doesn’t really like radishes that much. “I think that’s what they were, at least.”

“Are you?” Rey asks, almost catching up with him. “Working the fields, I mean.”

“Yes. With the help of some of the older kids."

It's hard to believe, the Prince of Alderaan growing carrots and potatoes. Rey's skepticism must show, because Ben chuckles. 

"What? Physical labor is nice. Rewarding. Or maybe it’s just that I’m a grunt.” His smile is dry, as if he’s laughing at himself. “Always have been. If with different purposes.”

It’s a bit of a lie, or at the very least a distorted version of the truth. Rey saw it when she was in his head—Ben studying, reading and writing late at night, sneaking old texts on the Falcon, to flip through when Han and Chewie inevitably went off on their adventures and forgot that there was a kid on board. Ben is more like a scholar than a grunt.

A bit of a lie, then, but Rey doesn’t call him on it. 

She is not crying anymore. Hasn’t been since Ben let go of her and dried her cheeks with his thumbs. Her heartbeat is down to an acceptable rhythm, too. Her breath, though, it keeps getting stuck: in her lungs, in her throat, between her lips. It’s possible that it’s simply the effect of Ben Solo. Of Ben Solo looking at her with those clear brown eyes, intent, careful; unclouded as they never were before.

“Is it just kids, then? Here?”

”There are some adults, as well. About your age, maybe.” She doesn’t bother to ask how he can possibly know how old she is. “But I’m the decrepit one.” 

He sure doesn’t look it. Rey follows him down a narrow pathway, past two children around nine or ten who appear to be playing tag. 

“I never thought…” When her voice drifts off Ben looks back; a brief, encouraging glance, as if prompting her to continue. “Nothing. I never thought you’d like kids, that’s all.” 

There is no reason for her to flush after saying it. No reason at all.

He grins. “Me neither. I was a kid myself when Snoke found me. And then there weren’t that many kids in the First Order. But I do like it here.” It doesn’t seem to pain him, talking about the past. Mentioning Snoke. “I don’t think it has much to do with them being kids, honestly. I like this place. It’s removed from most activity, but not, you know… as _nowhere_ as Jakku.” There is a teasing lilt in his voice. But Rey doesn’t bite, because—

One hundred and twenty-eight lines. 

One hundred and twenty-eight days since the other half of her—no. 

No. 

“Are you training them? The people here.”

“No, not really. Not like you or I were trained, anyway.”

“Because—I have been trying. With Finn. He is Force sensitive, it turns out, and I’ve been trying to teach him, but I haven’t been able to...”

“I’m not.” He whirls around and pauses, blocking her path. 

He moves… even the way he moves is different. He was always stunning to watch, even caged in a mask and covered in dark, cumbersome robes. But now—the _energy_ of him. Now he is light. Effortless. Mesmerizing. Rey… she needs to be careful. Coming here might have been a bad idea. 

“I’m not like you, Rey. I am not a Jedi, and I will never be one. I have no business teaching anyone.”

“And yet, you once told me that I needed a teacher.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I always assumed you meant yourself.”

His mouth curves in a self-deprecating smile; his arms widen, and he shrugs. He reminds her... God. He reminds her of Han.

“What are you doing here, then?”

“Not much. But you know it better than anyone else, how scary these powers can be. How hard to control.” 

She scans his eyes. It’s clear that he’s thinking about things. Remembering. The Emperor, maybe. Or Snoke. He is so honest, so open. Kylo was always opaque, but Ben Solo is made of glass. 

“Maybe I can tell them… how it was for me,” he adds softly. “How far they can go, before turning back feels impossible. Draw them a map of sorts. Help them.”

Rey turns her head, looking to the side. There is a small hut at the end of the path—maybe where Ben meant to lead her. A place for her to sleep later tonight. Or maybe where _he_ sleeps. D-0 begins to inspect it, mumbling to himself, bumping into the occasional corner. 

“Maybe I needed your help, too. After the War.”

His lips curve into a small smile. “Right. Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

And yet, he is _not_ taking her seriously; that much is obvious. “Rey. You are stronger than I could ever be.”

She presses her lips together. “I _did_ kill you, that one time.”

Ben Solo, he—he smiles so much. And so beautifully. “Indeed. Do you plan to do it again?”

It’s hard to find this funny. But it’s also hard not to, so Rey hides her own smile with an eye roll.

“We’ll see.”

…

_“I can’t make it out anymore, where you end and I begin.”_

…

Ben Solo is charming.

Ben Solo is intelligent, and tall and handsome and strong, all things Rey knew already from her acquaintance with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. What is new is the easy-going, almost carefree pull he has on her while doing… absolutely nothing of significance. 

Rey eats the bread and stew that was served to her by a Mon Calamari girl at dinner—delicious, and surprisingly abundant enough to fill her belly—and observes Ben as he goes about doing very mundane things: quickly breaking a fight between two human kids, helping a girl use the Force to heal her little brother’s skinned knee, taking a bite off of a green apple as he laughs with the twi’lek woman—Annah. 

The girl is pretty, and clearly strong with the Force, and actually older than Rey, which is... Rey is trying not to think about it. She is not a jealous person, never has been. No need to start now.

Whether the people here know that Ben Solo used to be Kylo Ren, Rey is not certain; still, this man standing in front of her, with his limpid eyes and kind smile, doesn’t seem like someone who would hide his past, no matter how bleak or shameful.

He has a home, here. A connection with all these people. And Rey—Rey has Finn and Chewie and Poe and Rose, but... Rey also just spent months numbing herself with work, with training, with _anything_ , just to barricade her head against thoughts of Ben Solo. Failing, too, for the most part. And he was here all along, growing crops and teaching toddlers how to use the Force to play stupid games and—

“Did you want some more?”

When she lifts her eyes he is standing in front of her, pointing at her empty plate. Rey shakes her head, watching him fold himself onto the too-small bench by her side. He is still biting into his apple, his lower lip wet with juice until he remembers to wipe it with the back of his hand. 

“Just let me know if you get hungry,” he tells her while chewing, mouth still half full. Somehow he manages not to be disgusting. Quite the opposite, actually. “We have a lot of—”

“Why are you alive?”

He stops chewing for a moment, the hand holding the apple frozen in mid-air. He glances around, as if searching for the answer, or for a way to escape. When he faces her again, his expression is serious.

“You don’t know?”

Rey purses her lips. “Clearly, or I wouldn’t have asked—”

“You, Rey." He clears his throat. "Because of you.”

A clinking sound. At a table nearby someone must have dropped a piece of silverware.

Rey blinks. “Of me?”

“Because of us,” he amends with a tilt of his head. “Of what we are.”

There is a knot in her throat; Rey tries to swallow it down. “That thing you mentioned. A…”

“A Force dyad. Yes.” He reaches behind him and sets the half-eaten apple on the table. “These bonds, Rey, they are hard to break.”

“Did you know it? When you… When you transferred your life Force, did you…?”

He shakes his head. “I had no idea. I thought I would just… And I was okay with it. But maybe…” 

“Maybe?”

He shrugs, failing to look casual. “I think," he says carefully, "that as long as one of us stays, so does the other.” 

“'Stronger than life itself.'” The Emperor’s words. Ben’s eyes close as he hears them, but he nods. “Are we…?”

“Bridged. Tethered.” His smile. Ben Solo—he has so many smiles. Some are shy, some are not. This one is, just a little. Melting something hardened inside Rey. 

“I couldn’t feel you,” she murmurs. “At times. On Exegol I could slip in and out of your mind at will, but now it’s like—”

“I’ve been blocking you out.” He holds Rey’s eyes for a second, two; more than that. Until she simply cannot look at him anymore.

“I see.”

“It’s for the best, Rey.”

_Is it?_

Her hands are trembling, so she fists them at her sides. And repeats: “I see.”

There is no way he cannot hear the tears in her voice. And that must be the only reason he slides off his bench with a muffled “fuck,” until he is crouching in front of her and holding her hand in his. 

“Rey.”

It’s clear that he wants her to look at him, but Rey’s eyes are filling again, and she really—she just cannot bear to— 

“Rey. Maybe we are…not fully separate.” A deep breath. “But it doesn’t mean that you have to... You don’t owe me anything. And I owe you so much.” He shakes his head. This smile right here, it’s reassuring. A little self-deprecating. “You don’t have to be with me. You’re a Jedi. And I can... I have enough control that I can make myself unnoticeable while you live your life.”

She is crying in a messy, ugly way now. Surely not becoming of a Jedi. “So you came to me, you saved my life—”

“Because you needed me.” 

_I still do._ “—and then you didn’t even... You could have at least told me. You brought me back, and then you just _left_ —”

“I saved your life so you could live it, Rey.” His smile is cocky. And so vulnerable. And oh, she was never not going to fall for Ben Solo, was she? “It doesn’t matter that we’re bound. You deserve so much more than to be saddled to someone who could fuck up his life the way I did. You deserve someone who didn’t let his family down over and over, someone who didn’t _kill_ his father, someone who wasn’t an accomplice to _genocide—_ ”

“You think I _care_?” she hisses. Maybe too loudly: Annah the twi’lek is looking at them now, a protective expression on her face as she studies Ben’s face. Rey takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. “You said it yourself— _two that are one_ , and—do you really think I would care about Kylo Ren—”

“It’s not about caring, Rey. It’s about _deserving_.” 

“What, then? What is it? What do _I_ deserve, now that—”

“ _Everything_.”

It’s Ben who is too loud, now. And altogether too vehement. Several people have stopped their own conversations to turn and stare at them, but he doesn’t seem to care. He is looking at Rey like he did on Exegol now, intense and open and so full of…

_Oh._

_Oh, Ben._

They both breathe. Holding eyes, slowly, they both take deep breaths, and Rey can feel the air in his lungs like oxygen in her own body. The pulse of her own heart like blood in his veins.

They exhale.

“Could it be…” She hates it, how broken her voice sounds. But. “Could it be less about what I deserve, and more about what I want?”

“Rey.” His eyes flutter close. “Rey. The things I want for you.”

And yet. Something between their minds cracks open; just a wedge, but it’s enough. All these months—years—Ben has never _not_ been there. But now, now he is spilling. Now he truly feels _with_ her, flooding the inside of her head like a river. 

“Are you sure?”

She is crying. Again. “Please.”

He searches her face for a long moment, and then he nods. And he continues nodding as she reaches for him; holds his face in her hands; lets their foreheads touch.

“Will I always have to kiss you first?” she asks.

Ben exhales a laugh. “Maybe just the first few times.”

His smile stays wide as she leans down to him.

…

_“You smell like the ocean.”_

_“And you smell like the desert.”_

…

The tree bark is pinching the skin of her back even through her clothes, and he is breathing loudly, so loudly in her mouth, Rey can barely hear her own thoughts.

Not that she has any thoughts at all, except maybe that the pleasure of having him here, solid under her fingers and between her legs, it might be too much and too soon, overwhelming in the best possible ways, coiling inside her in a liquid, scalding rush that—

“Rey,” he groans, low and deep, before sinking his teeth in the side of her throat. “Rey.”

She moans and arches more into him, tightening her legs around his hips. It must remind him of the existence of her chest—that yes, yes she has breasts, because he pulls her top further down, his tongue taking long swipes at her hard, pointy nipples.

It’s a mess, the feedback through their bond. She can feel his pleasure as her own, and all that he wishes from her, and the fact that even before, even on the dark side, even when empires were laid at his feet, he had never, _ever_ wanted anything this way.

“Don’t let me fuck you here.” They have fought to the death countless times, but she has never seen his breathing this labored. His eyes this unfocused. “Rey, don’t let me fuck you like this. Not for the first time, okay?”

In response, she just slides her hand between their bodies, beginning to undo the opening of his pants. Her fingers drag against hard ridges and metal buttons; something twitches under her palm.

“Oh, shit.” Ben exhales. He might be talking to Rey; or to himself. “Oh, _shit_.”

They should go find his hut. Or the Falcon. There are places where they could be doing this and not have a one-wheeled droid or a gaggle of fifteen-year-olds stumble upon them grinding against each other on a Tintolive tree, but Ben could barely wait after she kissed him, and Rey—she thought _maybe_ she could, but now there is something thick and hot rubbing deliciously between her legs, and Rey is no innocent, but this is—

“You can if you want,” she pants in his mouth between messy, sloppy kisses. Her fingers work quickly on him. _Fuck me, I mean._ “I like it here.”

His eyes shut tight, and he groans. Rey wants to ask if she’s doing this right, if he likes it—if he likes _her_ —but his pleasure is so loud in her head, and then she is taking him out of his pants and—

“Oh, g—Ben. Is this— _Ben_.” She looks down, to make sure what the heavy weight in her hand is as large as it feels. It twitches inside her palm, and it’s—she cannot. She cannot possibly— “Ben.” She shakes her head. “No.”

“It’s okay.”

“It will never—”

“It’s fine.”

“We can’t.”

He is—not laughing. Just gasping into her mouth, and then letting is head fall forward to her neck as he murmurs: “It’s okay. We don’t have to.”

He is _still_ in her palm. Still huge and hot and wet and maybe if she squeezes a little it will get smaller and it will fit and—

“ _Shit_ , Rey—you have to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Touching me.”

She whimpers. She doesn’t want to stop, but she also cannot possibly—not inside her. Not like this. “What are we going to—”

“Here, let me just—”

He must be using the Force to keep her pinned to the tree, because one of his palms is under her ass and the other is shoving her pants down, and then—then it’s just him and her, skin to skin, and Ben pushing between her folds, parting them with his cock and hitting her clit with the broad head.

It’s _ruinous_.

“Oh.” 

Rey’s fingernails dig into Ben’s shoulders. She might be drawing blood.

He grunts. “Do you want me to stop?”

She can barely make out his words. The pleasure is roaring through her, pulsating in her ears.

She shakes her head and she—she is—she is coming, already. If this is what is happening—it has never felt like this, before. But there are shudders down her spine and her thighs are clenching around him and he is moaning, too, grinding harder into her as sticky wetness spreads around her inner thighs, inside her clothes, and he is breathing hot and heavy against the shell of her ear, his hands pressing her into himself as if to absorb her, and—

Pleasure crests like a storm on Kef Bir, and they both fight for breath with gritted teeth. And then they drown, and drown, and drown, until Rey relaxes herself into the next wave.

…

_She traces his closed eyelids. “Two…” Her finger moves down the slope of his nose, and then pauses above his lips. “…that are one.”_

…

  
  


“Are you going to stay for a while?” a human boy asks Rey with a welcoming smile once they emerge back from the forest. She is grateful for the dark, because he doesn’t seem to notice how disheveled they are, or that Rey’s cheeks are crimson red, or that Ben’s hands are still shaking, if ever so slightly.

She nods. “For a while.” 

She tries to ignore Ben’s insistent _Forever_ pulsating sweetly in her head, but ends up giggling foolishly, like the girl she has never quite been.

There is a moment of dense, pleasant silence once they reach his hut. Not tense, but full of promise. _Forever_ , she thinks, not trying to broadcast it; but the joy it gives her must be spilling out of her, because—he is still smiling. Staring at her, messy and flushed and still wet, and smiling. Happy and satisfied.

“Can I see it?” he asks her as if to distract himself, and it takes her a moment to realize that he is pointing to her staff. She nods and hands it to him, and he continues to smile while he examines it. He knows instinctively how to release the saber from the staff; he tests the weight of it, and then twirls the hilt in his fingers, beginning to try a few basic forms, feeling its vibrations tune with his body. It’s as familiar to him as calligraphy is to Rey: a by-product of their bond.

Two that are one.

“It’s not quite as unstable as you like them, but…”

He shoots her a dirty look.

“I… Leia and Luke’s are gone. I left them on Tatooine.”

He nods, killing the switch and re-sheathing the hilt inside the staff. It’s clear that he doesn’t mind, but Rey almost wishes that she had waited for him to bury them. She bites the tip of her thumb, mulling it over.

“We should build you one,” she says. “A lightsaber, I mean.”

He shakes his head, giving back Rey’s staff. He looks sad, but also not. 

“No, Rey. We should not.”

…

_She is crying, again. On his shoulder, again._

_“No one does.”_

_He pushes her hair back, and then presses his lips to her forehead. “But I do.”_

…

It’s almost ridiculous how his hand hovers over her hips, her ribcage, her breasts, so close that she can feel the heat of his skin, the desire thrumming heavy between them. But then he stops—no matter that Rey is naked on top of him, no matter that his fingers were deep inside her stretching her open until just minutes ago, no matter that her slick is mixing with the shiny sweat on his abs as she grinds down against him. He stops, and he asks:

“Can I touch you?”

It would make her laugh, but she can barely hold herself upright, what with the warmth coiling deep inside her tummy and the way her heart is beating inside her clit.

“I think you _have_ to touch me.” She moves back, bringing her opening against his cock. It will never fit. “For this to actually work.”

“No. I meant the— _fuck_.”

He _really_ is too big. And she shouldn’t have just arched her hips and pulled him inside. But she has no idea what they’re doing, and he’s the one with at least _some_ experience, and the pain feels as delicious as it is stinging, and—

The Force wants this.

Ben is inside her, in her cunt and in her head, and the Force stretches and curls and then stills around them, finally, _finally_ in balance.

Rey gasps.

Ben falls quiet, pupils blown black, lips moving in silent words.

An arc of pleasure surges through them, liquid and violent, and they teeter there, afraid that it might end. That it might begin. 

Then Ben’s hand comes up and finally, _finally_ touches her. Just on the cheek. “Rey, I…”

Her heart has never beaten this fast. And yet, it’s perfectly in time with Ben’s.

“I know.”

  
  
...

_“There was,” he tells her, patient but firm, “no other ending for us to have.”_

_“There wasn’t,” Rey agrees. She leans across the Jedi texts, reaching out to kiss him on the cheek. “I am glad we are writing a new one.”_

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoAli)


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